%%USERNAME%%    %%ACCWORDS%% %%ONOFF%% |
 |  Fire and Blood |
 Targaryen Musings "Game of Thrones"  -- Notes of StephBee   House Targaryen
FELLOW DRAGONS: iKïyå§ama  JACE  Choconut  GERVIC 🐉 WDC Dragon Vale  StaiNed-House Targaryen  BASICS:  Writing: Standard 500 - 1000 words for stories unless otherwise instructed. 150 words 20 lines max. unless otherwise instructed.Interactive - No limit, but please, behave.ALWAYS remember to put in WC or it won't count - no late edits! Sorry. Reviewing: characters minimum - CHARACTERS - not words, without WritingMLs! Remember that!. Please no repetitive words and/or sentences in each review to fill the void Please don't 'Stash' reviews, meaning, save them, then release them all at once. It will not be accepted.. If ANY review doesn't get credited/rewarded/added to the board, it means it didn't meet the requirements. The ONLY reviews you can do before the first five doors are unlocked in "House Of Black & White " are B-Day/Anniv. reviews REVIEW TEMPLATE FOR HOUSE TARGARYEN: Please make sure you display your badge in your reviews/items for the activity must add the text below inside your review - above or at the end of it -The views and opinions on this review are mainly the things discovered by the reader and therefore, do not reflect necessarily to the group, activity and/or event being affiliated herein. This is only the opinion and suggestions of the reviewer and it is still up to the author of this piece to consider this review as a corrective action or otherwise. You can also choose to add this text below; the point is to have the link to the game forum within your review as well: This Review was done on behalf of House Targaryen as part of "Game of Thrones" ! That produces: This Review was done on behalf of House Targaryen as part of "Game of Thrones" ! *Dragon* And last but not least, please affiliate your reviews to "The WDC Angel Army" - "The WDC Angel Army" . If you aren't a member yet, please let me know and you'll be added to the group. *Bigsmile* If you do not showcase this, we do not get points! Interactive Chapters:Once it opens, all interactive chapters are posted in "Game of Thrones" If a challenge requires an interactive chapter as part of it, you'll link it thereTo link an interactive chapter you'll write {chapter:chapterID#}Unlike regular items, interactive chapters have letters mixed with numbersDon't forget to include a word count within each chapter before you post it in "Game of Thrones" *Quill* B-Day/Anniversary Celebration: These reviews are worth 500 points per reviewNote on their personal Newsfeed 100 points-Note sent is worth 500 pointsMB or Awardicon sent 1000 pointsAll these have to be given out on the day of, not before, not after! Game Points:* Most challenges have either points attached or explained*Regular reviews, not part of any challenge, are rewarded 200 Points per qualified review*Interactive Chapters, 500 points per chapter + WC (if posted!) Gift Points As Cheers: are allowed to cheer on your team, or the opposing team*Non-participants are more than welcome to cheer on teamsBy spreading the word, we raise more GPs for all of you and the groups you're supporting!GP Cheers and their game points: For every 1000 GPs, the selected team gets 10 Game Points 10,000 GPs = 100 Game Points 100,000 GPs = 1,000 Game Points and so on
|
| Door 15 Part 2 - Crossroads Word Count: 246 Ah, the Crossroads are here. Do I go to Dragonstone or King’s Landing? Proceed North to the Wall or detour to Winterfell. It’s the point of No Return. I can’t turn around. It’s too far to go back. I’m 14 Doors in. On what? 6 more to go? Mindless Citadel Task still complete. Over 50 + reviews to go. Yet, still I forge on. It's like Daeneyrs leaving Mereen for Westros. That is the point of no return, and she forged on. I continue to write, review, and do mindless citadel tasks until the very last day. Honest? Well, there’s degrees to honesty isn’t there? Targaryens are pretty honest and up front. Don’t lie to a Targaryen. The Dragons are hungry. That said, I am personally an honest soul. I’m a 911 dispatcher in real life. I deal in honesty. Most competent team? You want honesty? The Targaryens are of course. We’re well rounded, consistent, hardworking and have participated in every forum. Two other teams who are hardworking and competent in consistency are the Free Folk and Lannister. They’ll give us Targaryens tough competition. Which team do I feel a personal kinship with? I’d say Lannister because I know Kit  and intuey  from before the Games. I’m appreciative of the team alliance we have with Martell. Honestly I have total respect for everyone here who has worked heard individually and as part of a team because while it hasn’t been easy, it has been rewarding.  |
| Door 15 – Inventions – Darla & Javier's Joyride Word Count: 1490 Darla and Javier pushed the wagon out from the barn. Nearby the horses collected next to the railing, watching them. The wagon had four wooden wheels, a seat for the driver and a room to put cargo, but in the front, where the horses would go, was a metal looking rounded looking thing that made the horses cock their head. They had no idea what to think of the ugly contraption. They got the wagon out to the dirt road. Darla stood for a moment admiring her handicraft. She rubbed her hands together and put her hands on her hips. “Well, Javier, this is it.” “I’ll drive,” he said. “You got the coal?” She dug into the pockets of her riding pants and held up a couple of small lumps of coal. “Check the water.” He walked over to the brass cylinder and examined the water level line. “It’s full.” “The Crankshaft? The pistons?” Javier looked under then over the engine. “Everything is hooked up. It’s now or never.” Darla drew in a breath to deal with her anxiety. She’d been obsessed with making a steam engine ever since she dreamed about it when she was twelve. That summer she spent the entire time inside, sketching and drafting. Her mother thought she was crazy, but Darla believed in herself, and as long as she did her chores and took care of the horses and fed the pigs, her mother didn’t fuss. When Darla was done with her sketches, she ran over to her next-door neighbor and found Javier. He was her age. He loved to make things. He was always wood carving or tin smithing. He helped his father with his black smithing business, too. Javier always had a spot of dirt on his face from something, but Darla loved that about him. It was a nice day to test the steam engine. The sky overhead was cerulean blue with only a couple of lazy white clouds lingering on through. Darla walked forward and gave Javier the coal. He placed it in the steam engine, struck a match and threw it into the small opening, closing the door. After a few minutes, the whistle blew a small blast of steam out. Javier checked the water line. It was a little lower. He turned to Darla. “We’ve got steam!” “Let’s go!” They jumped into the seat on the wagon and Javier fiddled with some regulators. The wagon jerked and lurched and finally began to roll forward. “Where should we go?” he asked. “Into town!” she exclaimed. He eased off something and the wagon continued forward onto the street. He had to pull on something and ease off of another line, but her engine was working! Glancing back at the horses, one frowned, and one dug his hoof against the ground. She wondered if they were jealous. Javier drove the contraption down the road, over the bend, and past the oak trees until it rolled into town on the main street. Windows flew open. People stopped on the street and stared. ‘ooohs’ and ‘aaahs’ filled the air. “Crazy Darla actually built that wagon she was talking about!” someone muttered. “Look at Javier drive that thing!” “Hey Javier can you stop that wagon?” the town constable yelled. Javier glanced at Darla. “Let’s hope the brakes work,” she whispered. Javier pressed a button, and nothing happened. He pressed it harder. The wagon jerked again and slowly came to a stop. “Open the top and let the steam out so it will idle,” Darla said. He juggled something else, and the top of the cylinder opened. Puffs of grey smoke escaped. “Well, what have we here?” Darla and Javier glanced toward the telegraph business. The Duke of Elmont approached, dressed in white linen shirt, riding pants, and black boots to his knees, his hands on his hips. Two of his footmen walked behind him. “It’s a steam engine, Your Grace.” Darla replied. The glared at the cylinder. “How on Earth does it work?” “Well, you light a make steam, steam turns the positions, that turn the crankshaft and make the wheels turns,” Darla replied. “Why aren’t you driving it?” the Duke asked. He was about thirty. Darla had to admit he was attractive with his black hair and hazel eyes. He was slim and well built and totally available. “I promised Javier he could drive it. I designed it,” Darla replied. “But I built it,” Javier added proudly. “I simply must show this to my cousin, the Prince,” said the Duke. He walked around the wagon rubbing his chin and admiring the craftsmanship. “Well, it’s a long way to the capital,” said Javier. “Nonsense. Only twenty miles,” said the Duke. He put his hands on his hips and looked at them. “We’ll need more coal. Maybe two pounds,” said Darla. She cupped her check in her hands, trying to do the mental math. “And we might need to fill up once on the water.” “Ah, so it’s do-able!” the Duke exclaimed. “We’ve never driven it so far.” Javier pursed his lips. He glanced at Darla. The wagon could make it, she was confident of it, but she had no idea how long it would take. “I’m confident in you!” He spun around and glared at his footmen. “Jake, you go find two pounds of coal. John, you find a couple of barrels of water and follow behind in the royal carriage. We’ll leave in an hour.” Darla leaned forward. “That’s quick.” “He’s a Duke. He can make things happen like that,” whispered Javier back. “I insist on riding in the seat with you,” the Duke said. “Sure, there’s plenty of room,” Javier motioned to the space between him and Darla. The Duke clapped his hand and his footmen ran off. “Let’s have some lunch while we wait.” The Duke motioned to the nearby tavern. Javier and Darla jumped down and tied the wagon to the nearest hitching post, joining the Duke for a meal. ******** After an hour, it was time to go. Both Javier and Darla enjoyed a hearty bowl of stew. The Duke’s footmen had procured coal and water and would follow behind in the coach. After all was settled, Javier topped off the water, and Darla topped off the coal. The Duke sat between them in the front seat. Javier twisted his gears, pushing and pulling and the wagon jerked off before settling in a comfortable speed. Darla had never traveled so fast. The wind breeze past her checks, making her a touch cold. She glanced at Javier. He had a wide grin, thrilled at the speed. The Duke shared the grin, and she suspected the men enjoyed how fast the wagon went. After about an hour, they stopped to refill the water and off they were again. The Duke loved how fast it went. Javier hooted and hollered, while Darla held onto the side railing so tight her knuckles turned white. Finally, they approached the Prince’s castle, Raven’s Gate. The zipped over the bridge and into the main courtyard. Gray smoke puffed into the air. The Duke stood on the bench as the wagon came to a stop in the middle of the courtyard. “George! George! Come out and see this!” The servants threw open the windows. The doors opened. From cooks and maids to tin smiths, and black smiths, the servants were speechless. The prince raced out followed by his father, the King and two of his brothers. “Devon, what in the world is that … thing… you’re on?” George stopped and placed his hands on his hips, staring at Darla and Javier. Devon the Duke laughed. “It’s a wagon with a …what… do you call it?” He motioned at Darla. “A steam engine,” Darla crossed her arms. Javier just grinned from ear-to-ear. “Do you want a ride, Your Grace?” “It’s my turn to drive,” said Darla, non-plussed. “Oh, even, better,” Devon exclaimed! “C’Mon, George!” Javier and Darla switched seats. If they were going to take the Duke and the Prince on a joyride, she was going to do the honors. George climbed into the front seat and Javier and Devon climbed into the back of the wagon. “Darla, close the top,” Javier said. “I got this,” she grinned. She tugged on the sticks. George pointed to something. She tapped his hand. “Don’t touch.” Then she released a switch and the wagon jerked forward. Darla did circles and even a wheelie in the courtyard. Glancing at Javier she could see his teeth threw his gritted expression. Devon and George shouted with excitement. This was the best thing they’d ever ridden in their lives. After Darla was done doing her tricks, they stopped again, in the courtyard and everyone rushed over to check out the wagon. “How do I order one?” asked the King. Darla looked at Javier and they smiled. |
| Door 14 Prompt: ▼ The Lightning Bug Word Count: 993 Grandma lived in a small town on the Mississippi River delta. Mom would send me down there every summer to spend a month. When I was little, I thought the bayou was a pretty spooky place. As I got older, it didn’t spook me as much. I got used to the night sounds – frogs and crickets mostly. On occasion you’d hear snapping sounds. I just assumed that was an alligator or two. Then there was the buzz of a lightning bug, usually at twilight, looking for something to zap. Well, I was young. I thought the intention of a lightning bug was to zap something. When I was twelve, I learned there was much more to lightning bugs than zapping things. That summer was especially humid. Grandma’s swamp coolers were working overtime. Now, Grandma had a new neighbor. A Cajun couple moved down from New Orleans, and they had a boy named Remy who was my age. Remy didn’t know much about the bayou. He took a shine to me, and well, I liked him enough. We’d try to catch frogs, but they were faster than us. Grandma told us not to go round Morgan Pond – that’s where the alligators hung out. Often, Remy and I would stay out to twilight and just a tad longer, listening to the sounds and watching the lightning bugs come alive. That fateful night, we were at Remy’s house when twilight descended. His mom told us to wait on the porch and my Grandma would be by soon in her golf cart to pick me up. She usually drove the golf cart around town. “Emma! Remy! Ya’ll want some lemonade while ya’ wait for Emma’s Grammie to come on by?” Remy’s mom shouted from the porch door. “Yes, please, ma’m,” I replied. “Yes, ma’m,” Remy answered. His mom smiled and headed back into the house. Remy and I sat on the top step, just watching the road and listening to the sounds. The crickets were chirping. The sun had dipped below the horizon, and deep orange-red rays of light were fading over the nearby marsh. Several flitterly lights began to fly by. “Dem lightning bugs are up,” Remy pointed to a patch of them floating by. “I wonder what they’re going to zap tonight?” I asked. He rubbed his chin. “Umm. I figure to guess they’re lookin’ for skunks tonight.” I scrunched up my nose. Just then a strong breeze whipped past us and hit the patch of lightning bugs. They swayed with the wind, but one lone bug near the back dipped and fell, landing on the dirt road in front of Remy’s house. It tried to fly off, would get a foot off the ground and then fall back to the dirt. “I think it’s hurt, Remy.” He frowned. “It might zap me.” “What if that skunk comes by?” I asked. He pinched his nose. “Yuck.” “We should save it.” He pursed his lips. “Do you think it’s safe? Ma don’t like it when we leave the porch.” “We’ll be okay.” I tugged his arm. “We’ll come straight back.” He sighed, but followed me down to the dirt road. By the time we got to the lightning bug, it looked different. It had grown a little bit, and looked like Tinkerbell with wings, only one wing was twisted in awkward fashion. Remy and I bent down and stared at the bug? Fairy? She stared back at us mortified. “Are you okay?” I asked. The fairy nodded her head ‘no.’ “We’ll help you.” I held out my hand, flat. The fairy climbed onto my hand, but winced. “What are you? Are you a bug or a fairy?” asked Remy. We stood up and made our way back to the porch. “I’m a fairy.” Sitting down, I was careful and slow with my gestures. The little fairy sat on my hand, one wing twisted. “How neat. What’s your name?” “Tallulah.” She grimaced. “What’s wrong?” asked Remy. “Is it your wing?” “Yes. It got twisted in the wind.” “I’ll untwist it, okay? It might hurt a little,” said Remy. Tallulah nodded. She sat in my hand as Remy touched her wing. She flinched. He tried to be as delicate as he could and slowly untwisted the flimsy wing. As soon as he did, she fell flat onto my hand and groaned. “Yikes! Are you okay?” he asked. “Yes, it feels so much better.” She relaxed into my palm. Remy and I looked at each other and then at the fairy not sure what to think. Finally, she sat up and slowly moved both her wings back and forth. They sparkled in the twilight as bright as a lightning bug. “You glow like a lightning bug,” said Remy. “We live in a pod down on the other side of the marsh. I’m a young one, tho. This was my first night out. I owe you a debt of gratitude.” “Can you work magic?” I asked. “I’m still learning,” she admitted sheepishly. Just then three lights came back, zig-zagging. Tallulah flapped her wings, and the lights made a beeline to her as she sat on my hand. As they got closer, they grew bigger and took on a shape like Tallulah. “There you are! We were worried for you!” said one of the fairies. They had fair yellow hair like Tallulah. “My wing got twisted. These kindhearted humans helped me.” “I told you she was too young,” fussed a boy fairy. “We owe a debt for taking care of our young Tallulah. What can we do for you?” asked the older girl fairy. “Emma is my best friend! I don’t want to grow up without her,” exclaimed Remy. His request was rather spontaneous and surprised me. Tallulah’s friends? Or family? flew around us and sprinkled a little dust before flying off with Tallulah. ***** I cupped my chin in my hand and stared at Remy. Our ten-year anniversary was tomorrow. |
Honestly, I SHOULD have been updating since Day 1, but did I? No. I was overwhelmed and not sure what to expect so I just dived in and prayed Drogon would ROAST everyone and I'd be still standing.  So I'm going to post an OVERVIEW of what's I've done so far and We'll see where I land! HOUSE OF BLACK & WHITE: Out of 21 Doors I have completed 13 of them. Not bad, considering. I'll start work on Door 14. Do I have a goal? Get as many done by 30 APR. THE NORTH REMEMBERS: The prompts here are too numerous to tally but here is what I've accomplished so far: "Message in a Bottle Mirror Mirror Prompt " by StephBee "Tanzanian Pebodies TM Prompt #5 Story" by StephBee "Her Story #7 - The Scarf X5" by StephBee "Stolen Artifacts #16 - Story - Grandma's Computer " by StephBee "His Story #16 - Poem - A Boy and his Dog X5" by StephBee "Her Story #7 Trouble, Trouble Burning Bright Poetry X5" by StephBee CASTING SHADOWS: "Options, Options...." by StephBee "Race to the Top " by StephBee KINGS LANDING: Door 11 challenge And a Group challenge where I entered a poetry contest WESTROS: Tedious Citadel Tasks: 4, 5, 7, 10, 12, 14,, 15, 16, 19, 24, 26, 28, 31, 36, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41, 46, 48, 59, 63, 64 DRAGON'S NEST:
POTIONS: #4 and 22 I think. ENDLESS NIGHT: 10 Review for Gaby, Webbie, and Joy, 8 review for Yellow Cases, and much much more I can't remember! hahaha. |
| DOOR 12. -- Kiya's Lunch & A Poem Prompt ▼ #1 – What I brought Kiya for lunch today Word Count: 213 Like Kiya, I work in a field that has long hours and a lot going on. Lunch IS a must, but there are those occasions that people forget to pack lunch or just they forgot what they have for lunch. Mind you, I can cook a little bit. What I can cook, I can really cook. On the menu: New England Clam chowder, Chicken tortilla soup, and meatball soup. I can rock some soup. I can grill steak and ribs. Let’s see – I can make a mean beef chili Dutch oven boy scout style as well as some apple cobbler in a Dutch oven. Kiya is more than welcome to make a request for any of the above.  Oh, what’s in my lunch bag today? Let me see – I brought Kiya a fresh baked roll I bought at the local grocery store and grilled chicken sausage. Chicken sausage is actually very good compared the really hot Italian stuff. I have some grilled peppers and onions as well as a brown mustard. I’m not a fan of yellow mustard. I have a ½ cup of applesauce and a snack size bag of carrots. I’ve got Costco alkaline water for a drink and a couple of extra Crystal Light ice tea packets. Enjoy, iKïyå§ama #2 A Poem about a Nurse: This an acrostic poem dedicated to all nurses, inspired by Kiyasama Word Count: 9 8 Lines Kind Industrious Youthful at heart Approachable Sensitive Amazing Medical A nurse |
| Citadel Task #63. PROMPT ▼ Blood of the Dragon Word Count: 991 Daenerys Targaryen landed Drogon in the center of Winterfell’s courtyard. Viserion and Rhaegal flew overhead, slowly descending, finally landing next to Drogon. The occupants of Winterfell stared. The solders studied the beasts, hands on their swords, though their swords were still in their scabbards. Sansa stepped out of the main hall with her half-brother, Jon Snow. The Guard attended her. She stopped when Jon put a hand on her elbow. Daenerys slid off Drogon and approached. Sansa pursed her lips. Jon’s lips tipped ever so slightly into a smile. “You came.” “I did it for you.” She glanced at Jon and looked at Sansa. “You know who I am?” “Daeneyrs Stormborn.” Sansa stiffened her shoulders. “Daeneyrs Targaryen, Rightful Queen of Westros. I am here at your brother’s request, as I understand the matter is urgent.” Sansa drew in a breath. “Tell her what the scout said.” Jon glared at his sister. “There is a good-sized company of the Night King’s soldiers marching on Winterfell. They’re probably two days out now. Winterfell stands a small chance.” “We stand no chance, but we know this.” Jon paused. “Only fire kills the Night King’s soldiers.” “Ah, and you need my dragons.” Daenyrs motioned toward Drogon. “Aye.” Daeneyrs glared at Sansa. “Is that what it takes to have you acknowledge my name?” “I do not want these people to die, Sansa.” Jon gritted his teeth. Sansa glanced at Jon. Daenerys could tell the girl was waging her own internal battle. It mattered not to Daenerys. Slowly, Sansa turned to Daenerys. “Aye.” “When I return, you will bend the knee.” Daenerys paused. “Jon, will you ride?” Jon raised his hand. “I have a condition.” “Oh?” “You will acknowledge Sansa as Queen of the North.” “Accountable to me.” Daenerys was firm. “Aye.” “It will be done.” Daenerys walked toward Drogon. The crowd studied her intently. What would Jorah advise? She paused in front of Drogon and swept her hand, gathering everyone’s attention. “I am Daenerys Targaryen, rightful ruler of Westros. I go to fight the Night King’s soldiers.” Whispers of amazement filled the air. Daenerys stared at Jon. “Rhaegal is waiting.” He nodded and stepped forward. Dani climbed onto Drogon. Jon had only ridden Rhaegal once, and while it was a rough ride, the dragon allowed it. Which lead Dani to question Jon’s parentage. Only a Targaryen could ride a dragon. And he was a bastard after all. Rhaegal lowered his wing as Jon approached and he climbed on. Rhaegal adjusted and Jon settled onto the dragon’s back. Daenerys patted Drogon. “Simonagon.” He rose and the other dragons followed. They ascended into the air and flew north at a moderate pace. Daenerys spied a small village and a herd of sheep in the distance. Drogon twitched his nose. Food? “When we are done,” she said out loud. After an hour the air chilled. Rhaegal flew closer to Drogon. “They’re close,” said Jon. Daenerys nodded. “The dragons don’t like the cold.” She paused. “Don’t let Rhaegal get too tired. The cold will drain him quickly. Keep an eye on Viserion. If the dragons fly too low, they could get hit by a spear.” “Aye.” They crested a hill and there were the White Walkers, the army of the Night King. A good battalion marching almost mechanically. Everything they passed iced over. Drogon snorted and took point. He flapped his wings close to his body and bore down on the army. Viserion took to Drogon’s left, Rhaegal to this right. “Dracarys!” The dragons roared, spreading fire over a wide path. White Walkers cried out as they blazed to death. The Walkers on the flank ran off in small groups, consolidating their weapons as the dragons readied for another pass. Daenyrs noticed they slowed. The cold air was affecting them. The dragons flew lower. Spears flew toward the sky. Drogon turned on his side, as did Viserion, but Rhaegal was slow to make the turn and received a spear in his neck, close to where Jon sat. Rhaegal cried out and sunk even lower. Daenerys tugged on Drogon who made a hard right and torched the White walkers who had thrown the spears. Another volley of spears went up from the left, but Viserion blew a blast of flame and they fell to the ground, burnt. Rhaegal landed, and shrugged his winged shoulder, trying to loosen the spear. Jon reacted quickly, jumping off the dragon and tugged on the object. The last group of White Walkers rushed toward Rhaegal, ready to release another volley. Viserion had to bank a turn and was in no position to torch them. As for Drogon, Dani feared the White Walkers were too close to Rhaegal. If he unleashed his fire, she was confident he’d be fine. His body needed fire. But Jon? Would he survive? Her breath hitched. Jon Snow was a bastard – and one of his parents were Targaryen. She had to take it on faith – and this would either prove his lineage or kill him. And honestly, she had no desire to kill him. When the time was right, she wanted to f*** him. “Dracarys!” Drogon unleashed a blast of flame. The fire spread out, covering the White Walkers as they released their spears. Jon managed to pull out the spear in Rhaegal’s flesh, but has he looked at the blaze, his face dropped in fear. Fire washed over Rhaegal and himself. The White Walkers were decimated. The fire died out. And there stood Jon Snow, naked before Rhaegal and Dani. She landed Drogon. He stood before her dumbfounded. “You tried to kill me!” “I did no such thing. I saved you.” She unhooked her cloak and handed it to him. “Your dragon—” She cut him off, grasping his hand with hers. “There is Targaryen blood in you – how else could you withstand the fire?” “You knew?” “I suspected. Drogon’s fire confirmed it.” Jon Snow stood shell-shocked. |
| Message in a Bottle Prompt ▼ Word Count: 980 Jose unpacked the jeep, grabbing his snorkel, fins, and towels. His fiancée, Elise, grabbed the beach bags and drinks. Elise had never been to Key Lago, and he couldn’t wait to show her the coral reefs. She smiled at him as they ambled down the walkway, onto the sandy shore at the John Pennekamp Coral Reef State Park. The sea salty air was mild; the wind, gentle. The sky was clear, no clouds, yet the temperature was comfortable. Elise picked a spot. The beach wasn’t too crowded. Jose glanced at his watch. More beachgoers would be arriving within the next couple hours, and it would get crowded quick. “I think we should go snorkeling, first,” he suggested. She flashed him that agreeable smile which melted his heart. “Sure. I’m game to see it all.” “The coral is unbelievable, and the manatees are sweet. You’re going to love it!” he said. She slid on her fins. Jose admired her adventurous nature. They eased into the warm June water and Jose pointed in the direction he wanted her to go. She stayed close, following him. Manatees and sea turtles swam near them. Jose waved at each one and Elise did the same. She pointed to a clownfish. Jose nodded his head and directed them to the nearby coral reef. It was alive in color! Vibrant pink, yellows and gold flittered around. Soft sponges swayed gently in the ocean current. Jose could have sworn Elise ‘ooh’d’ and ‘aah’d’ at every nook and cranny he pointed to. Then she pointed to a part of the reef that looked rocky which had several holes in it. Jose had seen this reef before, but this was different. There was a glass bottle stuck in one of the holes. It must have drifted in on a current. Elise swam over and tugged on it. It appeared stuck. Jose put his hand over hers and they tugged on the object. It came lose. He pointed to the surface, and they swam to the shore, Elise holding the bottle. When they got to waist level in the water, Jose took off his mask and snorkel. Elise did the same. “Let’s see your bottle,” he said. She held it up. An old, yellowed, rolled up piece of paper was inside. The opening was secured with a cork. “How exciting, Jose! We found a message in a bottle. Let’s go check it out.” Jose smiled, thrilled at her exuberance and they made their way to their blanket. They put their snorkeling equipment off to the side, dried off a little, and sat on the blanket. Elise held up her bottle, studying the paper. “Do you find these often?” “Sometimes.” Jose pointed toward the east. “The Bermuda Triangle isn’t far from here.” “Really?” “Yeah. I remember when I was a kid, my cousin, Miguel, found a message in a bottle that was dated 1667.” “That’s crazy! Really?” “Yeah, it was a treasure map, but none of the markings on the map made any sense.” Jose rubbed his chin. “You know, I haven’t seen or heard from Miguel in a couple of years. I wonder what he’s up to.” “I’m sure he’s fine. Let’s open the bottle and check it out. Maybe we found another treasure map,” Elise suggested. Jose twisted the cork. Nothing. He needed a cork opener. “We might have to wait until we get back to the apartment.” Elise frowned. She took the bottle back from Jose and ran her fingers over the smooth glass. The bottle grew warm, not uncomfortable, but warm. “Jose, feel this.” He placed his hand where hers was. The bottle grew even warmer. “That’s odd. It’s like it’s reacting to us, but just now when I held it before you – it wasn’t this warm.” “Maybe it had to wake up?” she suggested. The cork spit itself out. Elise and Jose dropped the bottle on the blanket. “That thing was pretty tight! What the heck just happened?” Elise cocked her head and stared at the bottle. “Where did you come from?” It just sat there. The cork laid on the sand next to them. “You didn’t expect it to talk back to you?” Jose chuckled. “I didn’t expect it to warm up in my hand, either.” The paper in the bottle turned. Elise’s eyes grew wide. Written on the paper was “the triangle.” “You can understand me?” Elise asked. The words disappear and ‘yes’ appeared. “That’s freaky, Elise.” Jose rubbed his chin with his hand. “I wonder why it reacts to you?” “Maybe I was the first one to touch it?” she suggested. ‘yes’ disappeared and ‘good guess’ appeared. “Can you come out of the bottle?” Elise asked. ‘If I do, then only the original message will appear. I won’t be able to reply to you.’ It wrote on the paper. “What makes it possible for you to reply to me now?” asked Elise. ‘I am an A.I. program.’ Jose arched an eyebrow. “A.I? This is more magic than A.I.” Elise reached for Jose’s hand and squeezed it. “I really don’t know what to ask it.” “Well, anything coming from the Bermuda Triangle is bound to be, ah…” ‘unique,’ the paper offered. “Well, paper, do you have a message for Jose and I? Do you know what lies in our future?” asked Elise. ’Do you really want to know?’ “Elise, I don’t know if I want to know. This bottle is starting to freak me out.” ’It’s nothing bad.’ “That’s good. I think.” Jose rubbed the back of his neck. The paper rolled over and cleared the last sentence. Then another message appeared. ‘Beware the triangle. Never go in it. Stay away from all the islands close and near. To touch the water in the triangle will ruin your timeline.’ “How do you know?” asked Jose. ’I’m a message in a bottle from 3024 written by your cousin, Miguel.’ |
| Aka my teammates. Citadel Task #38 I’ll start with our Fearless Team leader Queen of the Andals and Mother of Dragons: iKïyå§ama If I could give Kiya a dragon to ride it would be Drogon. Why? Because he’s fearless, just like Kiya! I’ve already shared a little about Kiya. I joined WDC in April 2005 and she joined in DEC, so we’re close in ‘age’. Kiya was a go-getter and self-starter from the start! I was happy to join the Angel Army when she founded it, but I haven’t been as active due to my boys and I can’t thank Kiya enough for her Leadership and Patience (especially with me) when Boy Scouts won over WDC and AA. I’m glad the White Case Memorial has found a home with the Angel Army. Kiya is a very talented graphic artist and I enjoy reading her writing a lot. She was born and raised in Lagos, Nigeria. She’s a Registered Nurse and has lived in the USA. She’s currently in the UK. I’m honored to have known her all this time on WDC. Word Count: 161 Hand of the Queen: JACE Jace’s dragon would be Rhaegal, because Rhaegal is Drogon’s bestest buddy. He joined WDC in May 2008 and I usually see him around on the newsletters. His writing is easy and conversational which I enjoy. He just submitted an Acrostic poetry entry for the Bard’s Hall last month and earned a 2nd place finishing for his poem! Well done. His “Laugh a Folder” in his port intrigues me the most as I enjoy a good laugh as well. He’s recently retired and is looking forward to traveling. I’d say Jace and I have that in common as I enjoy traveling as well. He was stationed in Germany, and I was station was stationed in Germany. I think he’s going to have a lot of adventures traveling the USA on Rhaegal. Word Count: 130 Mistress of Coin: Choconut Rachel would ride Rhaegal, too. He’s easy going unlike Drogon, who can be a bit a fussier when he doesn’t get his way. Rachel joined WDC in May 2015 and she’s been a busy little dragon since. Like Jace, I’ve usually seen her around on the newsletters, and it’s been a pleasure getting to know her. She lives in England and writes from the heart, which is the best kind of writing! She also submitted an entry to the Bard’s Hall Contest in March and earned a 3rd Place finish with a well written poem! The item that intrigues me the most in her port is Rach’s Chocolate Emporium because I’m a sucker for a good piece of chocolate! It’s got a lot of offerings. Check it out. Word Count: 128 Master of the Dragon Pit: GERVIC 🐉 WDC Dragon Vale Gervic likes a good challenge, so I see him riding Viserion. Why? Viserion is a bit hardheaded, like his namesake and Daenyrs’ brother, Viseyrs, but Gervic is guy with a strong will and a lot of determination and he LOVES dragons. He joined WDC in May 2010. He’s got a colorful port and the one thing I love about it is how pretty it is. He’s got a WDC Dragon Vale activity where you can go and hatch your own dragon. He was born in the Philippines and has a degree in Business Administration. It’s been a hoot playing Game of Thrones because the guy has a ton of energy! Word Count: 110 Grand Maester of Dragonstone: StaiNed-House Targaryen Staine is another one who could conquer Viserion. After all, Viserion went dark when the Night King stuck him with a javelin. I can see Dark Staine riding Dark Viserion. She’s been on WDC since Aug 2006 and when you pop into her port you see a dark tree with a dark kitty sitting on it with a devious smile. Staine to a tee! Ann is Canadian – living in Eastern Canada with 2 adult boys. I always wanted to go to Montreal or Prince Edward Island. (think Ann of Green Gables) Raising boys can be fun, but hard work at times. I love a good book as much as Ann does! I’m interested in Polls, Crosswords, and Word Searches, in her port because I like those kinda’ items here on WDC. I’ve read Ann’s stuff throughout the years here on WDC and always enjoyed her stories. Word Count: 147 |
| Door 9 Prompt ▼ Word Count: 1987 A cold wind struck my cheeks like a slap in the face, abruptly jolting me awake. Sand grit up against my feet and legs. I raised myself up to a sitting position and just sat there for a second, looking around, trying to gather my bearings. I was on a beach. It was sandy, but it was also chilly – not bone cold, but I needed more on that a t-shirt and shorts. Overhead dark clouds gathered, moving a little faster than I would like. It was going to rain – and soon. I rubbed my cheeks with my hands and took a long, slow visual inspection of the beach. There was a wooden box, probably from the ship I was on. To my right, there was a rocky shore. About 500 meters in back of me were sand dunes, then a hill, I could see coconut trees in the distance. It was 2000. Who knew there were deserted islands these days? Was it deserted? I didn’t know. And honestly, right now, it was more important to get this box and myself out of the storm that was going to hit. I stood up and a sheering pain shot up my foot. Glancing down, I’d been cut. The blood was dried, but the foot hurt. I limped over to the rocks and scoured the area. There was a shallow cave which offered some protection. I just hoped it would be enough. Limping back to the box, I dragged it to the cave and settled in. The box was nailed shut. Using a rock, I pounded on the box until the nails gave, then I pried it open. There was a first aid kit, a blanket, warmer clothes, sandals, map and compass, knives and machetes, rope, a radio, some protein bars a several lighters. I used the first aid kit to put some Neosporin on my cut foot and bandaged it up. Then I went outside of the cave and trudged past the sand dudes gathering kindling, wood, and a couple of coconuts. In the distance, I could have sworn I saw sugar cane growing wild. It started to sprinkle. The storm was here. Going as fast I could, I made my way back to my cave. It was a shallow cave, and I went back to the back wall to start my fire. Wrapping a blanket around me, a munched on a protein bar next to the fire as the wind and rain came whipping down. I ran a hand against my head and discovered a small knot. I must have hit my head. That would explain why I was out cold on the beach. Closing my eyes, I tried to remember. We launched from San Juan, Puerto Rico. We were going yachting around the island. Vague warnings came to mind. Don’t go that way- you’re too close to the Bermuda Triangle. There’s a storm in the distance – maybe two to three days out. Dock at Isidra. Well, that didn’t happen. We must have caught something. A wind? The storm? For the life of me I couldn’t remember. Where was Simon? Alex? I sighed. Not here with me. Did we go into the Triangle? Lord, I hope not. There were too many stories of going into the Triangle and not coming back. Well, I couldn’t look for them now. I settled next to the fire to wait. *********** I woke up after a long sleep. The fire was down to ashes, but the rain had stopped. Looking outside, the sky was partly cloudy. The area was wet, but it hadn’t rained in a bit. In the distance, I saw the sails of ship – an old fashioned ship? Maybe a yacht? I kept the blanket around my shoulders and walked-limped to the shore. The ship grew closer. There were three staffs, all with big full sails. I spied a flag on the stern, but couldn’t quite make it out. Was this a clipper ship? It would take about an hour to get here. I trudged back to cave, built the fire back up and cracked a coconut, drinking the milk. I wish I had a watch. I’d have to build a sun dial next and pray I got it right. There was no good place to build a sundial. I found a flat enough rock and used what was in the emergency box. I tried to find a station on the radio, but it was all static. As I completed this chore, the ship drew closer and pulled up an anchor. I could make out the flag now – the Jolly Roger. I wasn’t sure what to make of that. Didn’t pirates in the history books fly that flag? A skiff was launching from the clipper ship. They used paddles to row the boat. I walked over to the shore and waved. A man stood. He wore a white shirt with long puffy sleeve, a brown leather vest, and black pants tucked into boots. He made no gesture toward me, just glanced at the three men rowing the boat. After a few minutes, they hit shallow water, stepped out, and tugged the skiff to the shore. I started to shuffle toward them. The man in charge drew a pistol and pointed it at me. I stopped and raised my hands. “Hey, I’m unarmed.” One of the rowers, dressed in similar garb, walked over to me, patted me down, and said in English using a thick foreign accent. “He’s clean.” I started walking briskly toward the guy in charge, pointing a finger at him. “Who do you think you are?” The guy who gave me the pat down grabbed me, pulled my arms behind me and held me firm. “What is going on?” I demanded. As I was struggling, the two other rowers dragged my friends, Simon and Alex ashore. They were gagged and bound at the hands and feet. They looked awake as their eyes grew wide upon seeing me. The man in charge slid his gun back into the holster, but it was no modern looking gun – more like one with a flintlock. “I am Captain Roger Moore of the Tally-Ho and we sail these parts, some would call us pirates, but I would say we’re privateers.” He grinned so wicked I didn’t know what to think. “Pirates? You’re a pirate?” “Um, Privateer. Who are you? The way you’re looking at these scoundrels, I say you know them?” He pointed to Simon and Alex. “I’m Budapest Jones and these are my mates, Simon and Alex.” “Well, that’s an interesting name. And what are you doing sailing these parts? We caught them floating on some driftwood of a broken ship.” I made a face. “We were yachting around Puerto Rico.” Roger arched an eyebrow. “Yachting, you say?” “Yeah. For fun.” “You fools went yachting for fun? You did know there was a storm brewing?” “It wasn’t supposed to hit for a couple more days.” “And then there’s a patch of water that no one goes sailing through – it eats ships never to return.” “The Bermuda Triangle?” “He’s a nutter, Captain,” said one of the rowers. He joined Roger at his side. “I’m not a nutter! It’s 2000. What’s a privateer?” Roger walked up to me and looked me down from head to toe. “You’re a nutter. It’s 1821.” “What?” I grew limp in my captor’s arms, shocked at the date. Honestly, all the fight went out of me. Did we get blown off course? Did we go through the Bermuda Triangle and end up on this island in the year 1821, our yacht smashed? How would we get back? Could we get back? Roger gestured to his man. “Let Budapest go.” He released me and I stood, shell shocked. “Did you go through that patch of water you should have avoided? What did you call it – the Bermuda Triangle?” I swallowed. “I think so.” “Well, mate, that water isn’t stable. I wouldn’t dare try to go back – who knows what would happen. Besides, you have no ship. I found these two floating on driftwood.” “Why did you bring them here?” “This was the nearest island. We were going to leave them here.” “Does anyone live here? Indians?” “The island is uninhabited. We come here to harvest the sugar cane and sell it in San Juan for money.” “Is that what a privateer does?” Roger shrugged his shoulders. “Yes.” “So why did you call yourself pirates?” “We fly a pirate flag and call ourselves that so anyone we encounter wouldn’t mess with us.” Simon grunted. I pointed to my friends. “Do you mind if I free them.” “You’ve earned a certain degree of sympathy from me, but the first untoward movement, you all get hog tied again.” I walked over to my friends and untied them. Both Alex and Simon were befuddled. “Jones, did I hear right – it’s 1821?” said Simon. He sat there like a lump on a log. “Did we really go through the triangle?” Alex rubbed his ankles. “We must have.” I rubbed my hands together. “What now?” asked Simon. I turned toward Roger. “You can’t leave us on this island.” “Why not?” he crossed his arms. “My sympathy only goes so far.” “Make us members of your crew,” I offered. Roger arched an eyebrow. “The three of you? What do you have to offer?” Simon turned to me. “Yeah – what do we have to offer?” “Our hard work and labor. We’ll be good crew members – do whatever he says.” “He’s a pirate!” Alex exclaimed. “A privateer. There’s a difference,” said Roger, hands on hips. “Look, Jones—” began Simon. “Do you really want to stay on this unhabituated island living off sugar cane and coconuts?” I asked. “If this is really 1821, I want to be around people – I still want to live my life.” Simon and Alex turned mute and stared at each for a long minute. Finally Simon spoke, “You do have a point.” Alex let out a long breath. “Yeah, I don’t want to live here if there’s no women.” I sighed. I mean, yeah, I like women, too, but I would want to live a life with some type of purpose, even if I was part of a privateer’s crew. I straightened my shoulders and firmed up my resolve. “Let’s strike a deal, Roger.” “Oh? And what do you propose Budapest?” Roger motioned for his crew to gather around him. “Take me, Simon, and Alex on as part of your crew. We promise to work hard. You’ll pay us the standard wage.” “Captain, they hardly look sturdy,” said one. “Don’t let ‘em on the bridge. If they wrecked their own ship, we don’t want them to wreck ours.” “We do need a cook,” a third said. “Do one of you cook?” Roger rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Jones can cook,” volunteered Simon. “Well, I can grill food, I don’t know that qualifies for cooking,” I said. After consulting with his crew, Roger finally looked at me. “We’ll take you on as part of the crew. Budapest, you’ll be our cook. Can the other two rig?” “We can rig,” said Simon. One of the sailors laughed. “Sure you can.” “Well, then George you take Simon under your wing and make sure he can rig.” Roger glared at the sailor who laughed. The grins on Roger’s crew sobered right up. “Now, ya’ll wanna’ prove your worth? It’s time to cut some cane. We’re due in San Juan in a week.” Roger paused. “Do you ya’ have any possession, Budapest?” “Just a wooden crate in my cave.” “Go get it. We’ll bring it to the ship. George and Scrub grab the machetes and take the two newbees to cut some cane. I’ll be along shortly with Budapest.” “Aye, Captain.” I took in a deep breath and set out for the cave, ready for a new adventure as a privateer. |
| Tanzanian Peabodies Prompt ▼ Word Count: 986 The best coffee beans in the world are Tanzanian Peabody. No joke. Grown in the shade at Mt. Kilimanjaro. Of course, this fool wanted those beans. Who was I to tell him no? I love a good adventure. All I know about coffee is that they’re made from beans. Ah, but Peabody beans – they’re special. They’re round. See normal beans have a flat side. Peabodies don’t. It’s supposed to make the bean lighter and aromatic. I couldn’t care less. I got paid good money to smuggle these beans into the tiny little country of Grosenwitz. See Grosenwitz, is snuggled up against Switzerland and France and this stupid country, believe it or not, has outlawed coffee. So of course, coffee has to be smuggled in. My journey started two weeks ago. The dictator’s nephew, Finn, paid me handsomely to bring him back some of these peabodies from Mt. Kilimanjaro. Mind you, this is the dictator’s nephew. How is he supposed to hide these coffee beans from his uncle? The first part of the journey was pretty easy. I went down to Mt. Kilimanjaro, negotiated a good price and got twenty pounds of coffee beans. I figured I could disguise that easily. I paid for my beans and dressed them like medical supplies. In a nutshell, I took the train up from Tanzania through Nigeria to Egypt. Then I hoped a barge and got a ride through the Suez canal. I got on a boat that took me to Marseille. And traveling through France wasn’t that hard. I rented a Peugeot 380 and took off for the Alps. The small little town of Groisy, France was the next town over to the border crossing and I was getting tired. I rented a room and stayed overnight taking my big fat luggage bag up to my room to safeguard my coffee. At eight a.m., I dragged myself out of bed and ordered room service. I wasn’t about to leave the peabodies by themselves now. In less than five minutes there was a knock on my door. I opened it. “Room service.” The lady had long black hair, dazzling blue eyes and wore a dark blue shirt with a matching skirt. She held a metal tray with a cup of coffee, creamer, a pastry or two and a bowl of granola. I gestured for her to come in. “Put the tray on the table.” She did as I asked and began sniffing the air. I stopped digging around my wallet for a tip and raised an eyebrow. “What are you doing?” “You have peabodies in this room,” she announced. “Come again?” She sniffed again, turned around and pointed to my luggage next to the bed. “In there.” “How do you know I have peabodies?” “Peabodies are very distinctive. I know my coffee. You must have a couple of pounds of them.” “Well, I do.” She waved her finger. “Tisk. Tisk. You’re not going to smuggle them into Grosenwitz like that are you?” “What do you mean?” “The guards can smell those peabodies up close and personal.” I frowned and crossed my arms. “Well, I got an order from…” “Let me guess - the Dictator’s nephew?” “Yeah, how do you know?” “He’s always trying to smuggle coffee into the country. Thinks his uncle is crazy. Well, he is - he’s a dictator.” She paused, “Anyway, the crossing guards at Seville are gonna’ catch those peabodies. The smell is going to give them away.” I walked over to my luggage and pulled out the cans marked medical supplies. She just shook her head. “What kind of smuggler are you? You can’t fool those guards. Believe me.” She put her hands on her hips. I pursed my lips. “So now what?” “You have to disguise the smell.” “With what?” “Perfume?” She suggested. “And honestly, I wouldn’t use this border crossing. I’d go to Miztypoo.” “Miztypoo is two hundred kilometers from here!” “I know, but no one tries to smuggle coffee beans through Miztypoo,” she said. “Why not?” “Because no one goes out of their way to travel 200 kilometers to the next border crossing.” She smiled. “I’m just trying to help you.” “What’s your name?” “Bonnie.” “Bonnie, why don’t you take the rest of the day off and go to Miztypoo with me?” She arched an eyebrow, thought about it, and crossed her arms. “How much are you paying me?” “What’s a day’s wages?” “200 Euro.” “I’ll give you 300 Euro.” “You can afford that?” “Barely,” I admitted. “I get the rest of my payoff when I deliver the goods.” “All right. Sounds like fun.” “Meet me in the parking lot in about twenty minutes. I’ve got the blue Peugot.” “Okay.” She sauntered out of the room. I ate my breakfast and got dressed. Nothing fancy. Casual slacks and a polo shirt. I wolfed down my food and was out the door. Bonnie was waiting for me by the car. “We need to stop by my apartment first.” “Oh?” “Perfume. Trust me.” I nodded and we stopped by her apartment. After that next 195 kilometers was hell. We climbed up a mountain switchback after switchback after switchback. My stomach hated me. No wonder why no traveled 200 kilometers out of their way to smuggle coffee in at the Miztypoo crossing. Finally, we approached the border. Bonnie spritzed herself with her perfume and looked at me. “Just in case.” “Okay.” We drove up to the crossing and the guards came out. “Papers?” Bonnie and I offered them passports and smiles. “What’s your business in Grosenwitz?” the guard asked. “We’re going to see my aunt for the day.” The guard handed our passports back and waved us on by. “Have a great day.” I drove through and Bonnie smiled. “See I told you we’d get in. By the way, what’s your name?” “Clyde.” I grinned. I think Bonnie and I might have a future together. |
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
Rest those bony fingers and eat seafood and shop. You'll be all relaxed and ready to go to battle, again. 
